A/N: I have 16 reviews for one story that's three chapters long! Cool! Also, I just wanted to mention that somewhere ahead there will be a Jack/Elizabeth drunken thingy. Once again, author thanks at the bottom. Pre-At-The-Bottom thanks to rythmteck, who gave me the laugh of a lifetime the other morning.
So far, there hadn't been any major developements in the Swann case. The last man to have claimed to see her, Mr. Hayden Jeffries, said he saw her flung over the shoulder of a rather gruff-looking gent with a briefcase. However, that scenario was debatable, due to the fact that Mr. Jeffries was nearing ninety-seven years in age and was nearly as blind as he was wrinkly. But Will and Norrington were not giving up hope. In fact, they were in a constant battle searching for clues, hoping to be the one that would be labeled mostly-responsible for rescuing Elizabeth.
Much to Norrington's annoyance, Will was winning.
"I've just got off the phone with a Rachel Finney," he said one morning, handing Norrington a clipboard with all sorts of things scribbled on them. As he read, he tried to ignore the fact that everything was written in shiny blue gel-pen. "She says she saw Miss Swann near some little bookshop called Barry & Dunn."
"Did Miss Finney say whether or not the victim was alone?"
Will sighed, and looked down at a piece of paper on his desk, reading carefully. "Er.... alone." he said. "However, I don't think any of these people reporting that she was alone were the last to see her. I think," he continued, furrowing his eyebrows. "that she was kidnapped, because it seems very illogical that she wander off."
Norrington nodded, and headed towards his office. But before he pushed open the door, he turned back to the man sitting at the secretary desk. "Tell me, Turner," he said. "how is it you never became a police officer?"
Will smiled wryly. "To be honest," he said, pulling his gel-pen from behind his ear and beginning to write other things down. "I can't really stand the sight of blood."
Over in one of the more depressing areas of London, the girl everyone was now searching for opened her eyes to a very frightening sight. There was a man standing over her -- a man she did not recognize. He had small, watery eyes and a rather large face. All in all, a very disturbing sight. He smiled crookedly at her, and then straightened, turning to face someone at the other side of the room.
"How'd yeh pick up a lass like this, Cap'n?" he said in a gravelly voice.
"Well, Gibbs," came the reply, the sauntering intonation of Elizabeth's kidnapper. "it was my original intention to kill her, but she's just too pretty..."
At this, she sat up, startling the man called Gibbs and another person in the room who had, so far, not spoken. He was holding a cardboard box that contained film reels, and was wearing the uniform of a well-known theatre. He appeared to be rather elderly... or maybe just weathered. Elizabeth spent a few moments looking between the two men in surprise, and then averted her gaze to someone else...
In the corner, standing next to a large closet, was the "Captain", looking very smug. "Lizzie," he said, gesturing madly with his hands. "this is Gibbs, and that over there is Lewis, although we call him Cotton."
"Er... hello." she said quietly, the quiver in her voice making the greeting nearly incomprehensible. "I'm... El...izabeth Sw... Swann."
Gibbs continued grinning, and Cotton nodded, setting the box down on a small coffee table. Captain gave them a conspiritorial wink, and began gesturing towards the door. "Well, gents, I think it's time for you to go... must get back to work and all that. Thank you for making sure your cargo arrived safely, and I shall see you next week."
"Evening, Cap'n." said Gibbs, stalking towards the door and giving a little wave to Elizabeth.
Cotton nodded again, and followed.
"Why do they call you 'Captain'?"
The question was so timid that Jack barely heard it, and when he registered in his mind what she was asking, he was completely taken aback. Why do they call me 'Captain'? he thought. Because I'm the bloody Captain! But then again, she didn't know there was anything for him to be captain of... Puzzling little problem, this.
He turned to her, raised a finger, and opened his mouth. Much to his surprise, nothing came out. He tried again........... nothing. This was very strange to Jack. Whenever he had been in a rut, his mouth had always seemed to get him out of it. And now, now of all times, it had decided to stop working on him. He furrowed his eyebrows and thought, Lizzie still staring at him with those large brown eyes of hers.
"Well," he began, scratching his goatee in contemplation. "It's more of a... term of endearment than a title."
She continued to stare at him, and this time raised an eyebrow. "So those two are your ...?"
"Very dear friends," Jack finished for her, picking up the box of film reels, "although they've been like very distant cousins to me for years. Now," he gave her a look, and her eyebrow made a hasty decent, "after I put this away I'm going to have a bottle of rum or two. Do you have any more questions, because I'm generally not to be trusted whilst stoned."
"What's in the box?"
This time it was he that raised an eyebrow. "What's with all the fool questions, eh? Any child could tell that these are films." He snickered to himself.
"Then what are the films of?" She cocked her head to the side, her hair tilting slightly at the angle.
Jack stared at her, as though she were an idiot. "Home movies." he said simply, and then pushed through the door into his office, making sure to close it behind him. Of course, the films had labels like Jack, Gran and Grandfather at the beach, but everything would come to and end if someone outside the organization found out what these actually were. He began stashing them everywhere -- under the desk, behind the books in the small shelf that ran across the room... A minute later, he emerged, heading straight for the kitchen, where he rummaged around for his favorite brand of rum.
"May I at least have your first name?" The question came from the living room/bedroom, and Lizzie sounded very agitated... He smiled to himself. Over the years he had found that women were the most fun when upset.
"Not comfortable with callin' me 'Captain'?, Lizzie?" he replied, prying the lid off of a bottle of *Captain Morgan's.
Silence.
"Fine." he muttered. "my name's Jack. Happy?"
This time, she didn't sound nearly as unnerved, "Jack, where's the remote? And could you bring me something to eat -- I'm famished."
Flamingo Feathers: Thanks! And as for Will being Norrington's assistant... I couldn't think of any other way to tie him into the story. Jack will only get weirder. ;)
remnants-2011: Thanks! I really appreciate your review.
andyeascrewyou: (Wow, what an interesting name!) Thanks, and I thought it would be interesting if everyone were modern.
rythmteck: I'm glad you liked that part. It was soooooo much fun to write! And it did seem in character, although I didn't notice until you pointed it out to me. I went to see PotC two days ago, but it was only for the sixth time... The beautiful thing about theatres around here is that they keep the movies that are making TONS, even after they're supposed to go out, and then once they've gone out they go to the dollar theatre.
Neo-digi: Thanks! I'm glad you reviewed!
Emma Wow! My story kicks butt! How neat. *grins stupidly, thrown off-guard by intense compliments* Thanks for reviewing!
*Captain Morgan's is actually a real drink. When I was moving I borrowed some used boxes from some stores, and there are now several boxes for that brand of alcohol sitting in my garage. I couldn't remember if it was rum or whisky, and since I didn't want to get up and look, I just made it rum.